


I Think I'll Miss This One This Year

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8970472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: after deciding to spend christmas by herself, emma runs into that guy she's been chasing all year. based on the song "christmas wrapping" by the waitresses. art by tumblr user flipperbrain!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bah Humbug; now that's too strong!  
> 'Cause it is my favorite holiday.  
> But all this year's been a busy blur  
> Don't think I have the energy  
> To add to my already mad rush  
> Just 'cause it's 'tis the season.  
> The perfect gift for me would be  
> Completions and connections left from last year.  
> Ski shop encounter most interesting.  
> Had his number but never the time,  
> Most of '81 passed along those lines.  
> So deck those halls. Trim those trees.  
> Raise up cups of Christmas cheer.  
> I just need to catch my breath;  
> Christmas by myself this year. 
> 
> merry merry, my darlings!

“Bah, humbug,” Emma muttered as she passed yet another Santa next to a donation cauldron, imploring her with his sad, tinkling bell to give someone a good Christmas.  


That wasn’t really fair, she acknowledged that. Emma actually loved Christmas. Or at least she loved the idea of Christmas--people being cheery, peppermint and chocolate-flavored everything, maxing out your credit card to show the people you care about just how much you care with that gift basket of cranberry-scented bath products. As she trudged along toward the grocery store, she smiled; Mary Margaret would probably exclaim with glee over those bath products, but then again, the woman was easy to please.

Her phone started blasting “Jingle Bell Rock,” ringtone courtesy of her kid, the main reason she loved Christmas. She reached into her tight pocket and fumbled it, her gloved fingers clumsy as she wrestled her phone out of her thick, down coat.

“Sheriff,” she greeted, already knowing what he was going to say.

“Sheriff,” David returned. “Are you sure you can’t join us for some nog and Christmas cheer? I, myself, will be carving the roast beast.”

Emma sighed. “David--”

“It’s Christmas dinner, Emma, not an inquisition, I swear. Well, Ruby will probably ask about your love life. Don’t hang up!” he laughed. Emma rolled her eyes even as she smirked and shook her head. “There’ll be cocoa with peppermint Schnapps and candy cane stirrers,” David continued, doing his best to sound enticing. And she had to admit, it did sound nice--but no. Emma had already made up her mind to lone-wolf it this year.

“Next year,” she promised. She was really glad she couldn’t see his face, knowing it would have that special combination of David-ly concern and possible pseudo-pity. She’d already explained to him that for once, she was going to have a nice night in. _Alone_. No one guilting her into doing the big group thing, no one making her feel lame and awkward for not totally feeling the Christmas spirit. She did feel it, she just...felt it differently than others, if their facial expressions and genuine smiles were anything to go by.

Besides, Henry was spending the holiday with his father, so it was already kind of a bummer for her. She loved David and Mary Margaret, she did; the problem with spending the holidays with people who were like, the poster children for having sugar plums dancing over their heads was that they tried to enforce their cheer on others. And it was a good thing, it really was; most days, she needed that. In fact, growing up with the total opposite, she usually craved it. But something about the end of the year and the holiday rush just kind of made her deflate. Oh, she’d done the whole spirit of the season deal--decorated, gotten a real, live tree, Secret Santa exchange at the station’s holiday party, all of it. She and Henry had hung their stockings by the chimney with care, et cetera. And on December 26th, when Neal dropped their kid off with cheeks pink and chafed from the cold, they’d have their own special mom/kid celebration, just the two of them.

But for Christmas day? Yeah, she was gonna spend it all by her lonesome. And she was just fine with that.

She hung up the phone with David and proceeded into the grocery store, stuffing her phone back into her pocket and sighing at the blast of warmth that brought pleasant prickles to her cheeks. Grabbing a shopping basket, Emma took a deep breath, turning to face the store and immediately making a face.

There were so many damned people. She had figured she wouldn’t be the only idiot out at the store on Christmas Eve, but this was ridiculous. In fact, Emma herself was feeling kind of ridiculous as she trudged toward the canned foods aisle.

Despite the fact that she’d been telling everyone for weeks that she wasn’t going to make a big deal about Christmas this year, and she had been looking forward to doing her own thing, well. Something about having a mostly stable and good life must have gotten to her. When she had left work around lunchtime, she’d let herself into the apartment and looked around at its emptiness, and she immediately started feeling...lonely. Which was dumb, she’d always been alone. Well, she and Henry. Just the two of them. And they liked that just fine.

But as she’d poked around in the fridge, frowning with disgust at the week-old pork-fried rice, Mary Margaret’s bright, beaming smile popped into her head. She knew she had an open invite to their house, she knew that if she just got back in her car and drove over to the Nolan’s house right that instant that there would be hot apple cider and pancakes with whipped cream, the Nolan Christmas Eve tradition. And the peppermint Schnapps hot chocolate David had promised. She could picture it all so clearly: there would be several people the Nolans had collected over the years, grumbling and pretending to hate every second of it, just like Emma, but Mary Margaret’s sweet disposition and constant refilling of mugs always broke them all down. And David’s really bad karaoke rendition of “Marshmallow World” would assault her ears. And there would be festive little frosted sugar cookies cut into shapes with sprinkles and those red hots she loved. She’d come home a little tipsy and warm with a belly full of the best comfort food in the world.

It sounded perfect.

The problem with that was she knew if she showed up to Christmas Eve with the Nolans that they would talk her into coming over the following day for Christmas dinner, too, or worse--they’d make her spend the night and would probably surprise her with all kinds of gifts in the morning. And that was the thing that kept her from going, really; it wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy all of the Christmas stuff--it’s that she just wasn’t prepared to reciprocate. She’d gone to the Harry & David website, headed to the “Best Sellers” page, and ordered the very first thing that had come up--something called the “Deluxe Holiday Tower of Treats Gift,” and Mary Margaret had called three days before to thank her for it. Emma simply didn’t know how to shop for others for Christmas--Henry was easy, just slap some XBox points into an envelope along with some cash and wrap up the jeans and socks and underwear he needed, anyway. But David, and Mary Margaret? Emma didn’t know how they did it, always giving her stuff that seemed useless yet somehow became essential to her, like the really good quality, unscented hand cream she looked forward to receiving every year, or the car hazard kit David had gotten her for her first Christmas in Storybrooke that she ended up needing when she’d crashed into the town sign less than a month later. They’d given her (and Henry) gifts that she’d promised to unwrap the instant her kid was back from his Dad’s.

Anyway, Emma kind of wanted to prove to herself that she didn’t need any of that. She was determined to have some time to herself, dammit!

With a heavy sigh at her own stupid stubbornness, Emma slammed the fridge door shut and put her hands on her hips, glaring at her own kitchen and practically trying to summon some delicious food to just appear on the counter.

That’s when there had been a knock at the door.

She answered it, smiling with confusion at a very disgruntled-looking Leroy wearing an elf hat and carrying a familiar brown paper bag in his hands.

“Ho ho ho, Sheriff,” Leroy monotoned. “Here’s your dinner. Your co-sheriff told me to tell you not to order a pizza or eat whatever disgusting leftovers are in your fridge and to enjoy.” Leroy had thrust the bag at her and turned, stomping away and muttering something about how he was going to miss the beginning of the karaoke. Emma had called out a “thank you” and shook her head, peering into the Granny’s bag as she shut her door. She went over to the dining table and set the bag down, reaching in and pulling out two take-out containers and a note.

_We know you want to be alone, but Mary Margaret wanted you to eat something festive. Don’t be mad! I’ll see you at the station on Tuesday. -David_

One container had a grilled cheese and fries, the other Granny’s roasted turkey over mashed potatoes with stuffing and green beans on the side. Emma had wanted to cry.

“What, no cranberry sauce?” she had said aloud, her voice sounding suspiciously watery as she laughed to herself, feeling a little overwhelmed. Even when she wanted to be alone, she was still reminded that there were people who cared. It was...well, all a part of the season, she supposed. 

And that was what had made her leave to go to the store. Maybe she would see this stupid idea of hers out, to spend Christmas alone. But she’d do it with style. And that meant she’d need cranberry sauce. So, she decided to brave the slushy streets of Storybrooke and pray that the store was still open at six on Christmas Eve.

Now there she was, staring at an alarmingly empty shelf with a sign that read, “99¢ Sale,” her eyes darting left and right as she tried to find a fucking can of cranberry sauce. 

“Excuse me,” she called out to a harassed-looking kid in an apron with a nametag reading “Felix.” “Do you guys have any cranberry sauce left?”

“Seriously?” he huffed, continuing to rush past her without stopping to help.

“Little fucker,” Emma muttered. Feeling totally deflated and at a loss, she kind of wandered down the rest of the aisle, not wanting to leave empty-handed and wondering if her culinary skills would extend to making cranberry sauce from scratch (if they even had any real cranberries left) when she spotted an errant can sitting in the middle of a display of cake mix.

“Ha!” she called out with triumph, rushing over for the can before anyone could beat her to it. Cradling it in her arms, Emma felt ridiculous glee at her victory. _Now_ she could have herself a real festive Christmas dinner, complete with a side dish that was actually kind of gross. 

As she approached the cashiering area, she grabbed a bag of red and green M&Ms, because why not, when she came up short. Fuck.

The lines. Even the express was curving around and back into the aisles.

It occurred to her that standing in line for a half hour for two things was really dumb, but dammit. The cranberry sauce had become really important to her. So, with a heavy sigh, Emma trudged over to the line and counted how many people were in front of her--eleven, ugh--and pulled out her phone, ready to decide whether to return the several cheery texts she’d gotten all day long or play some Candy Crush. Just as she was tapping on level 176, she felt someone bump into her and she lurched forward, the can of hard-won cranberry sauce falling to the floor with a dull thud.

“Oh, sorry, love!” 

Grumbling, she bent down to retrieve her can at the same time the guy who’d bumped into her did. She fixed a glare on her face as she made to stand up, but it melted away when she realized who it was.

“Killian,” she breathed.

The guy she’d been chasing all year. Well, sort of. Or he’d been chasing her. Maybe.

“Emma,” he said softly, a slow grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Here,” he said, a bit louder. He’d gotten to her can first, but he frowned and snatched his arm back when she reached out to grab her cranberries. “Wait, love. It’s dented. Take mine.” As they both stood fully, he reached under his left arm and produced a nearly identical can, one without a dent in the side.

“You forgot cranberries, too?” she smirked. When he grinned again in response, Emma got lost in his eyes briefly, and in that two-second pause, an entire year’s worth of foreplay came rushing back to her all at once.

**One year ago, -ish**

“Come on, Mom!”

“Just a second!”

Emma was struggling into her boots. Muttering something about impatient teenagers and the highway robbery that was the REI winter sports department, Emma grimaced as she stood, trying to balance on her brand new ski boots. 

“I should have listened to David and rented this shit instead of buying it.” As if to make her point for her, Emma tripped in her boots without even moving, pitching forward and making her stumble. Henry managed to stifle a laugh before fixing her with _the look_.

“You said that already, Mom,” he huffed in that impatient, “God, you’re so old” voice only fourteen-year-olds are ever capable of achieving. “Come on, the snow will be all melted by the time we get there.”

“Doubtful,” Emma muttered, shuffling along through the lobby of the ski lodge, dodging people swinging their skis over their shoulders and dudebro snowboarders alike.

She fared a little better once she actually got her skis fastened (well, Henry did all the fastening, but they were a unit, right? She could take credit for his accomplishments because she’d spent six hours in labor with him, right?). 

“Whose brilliant idea was it to spend the holidays in the mountains again?” Emma asked as she made a sun visor with her hands, squinting into the bright morning sunlight glinting off the snowy vista outside the cabin.

“Mine,” Henry chirped smugly, “because Dad canceled on our ski trip and you felt bad and asked what you could do to make up for the dirtbag’s flakiness.”

“Oh, right,” Emma grinned. “He’s the one to blame. Can I also blame him if I break something skiing?”

“We’ll bunny slope it the entire time, Mom, promise,” Henry said. “Uncle David will kill us both if you end up in a cast, so we’d better be careful.”

“Yeah, and Mary Margaret will kill me if you end up in a cast, so. Hey, watch it!” she called out as some idiot went whizzing by. “There are children and small animals around! Asshole.”

“Come on, Emma Swan,” Henry laughed, his gloved hand reaching for hers. “To the bunny slopes we go.”

The first two runs went fine--well, Emma hadn’t fallen on her ass, anyway. She was actually starting to feel pretty confident about her ability to remain standing when it happened--she almost killed someone with her bare hands. Not because he ran into her, but because he almost ran over her kid.

“What the _fuck_!” she’d yelled the instant some idiot zoomed by. He actually clipped Henry, too, her kid windmilling his arms crazily while Emma watched in slow-mo horror, but Henry’s balance was much better than hers, and he managed to right himself before falling over. She turned angrily, the yelling leaving her lips before she even managed to zero in on the maniac zipping around and running into innocent children. “This is the bunny slope, jackass! There are fucking children everywhere!” Some mom dressed in super tight, bright-pink ski pants looked at her angrily while covering her two kids’ ears with her arms. “Oh, they’re wearing ear muffs, anyway!” Emma called out. She managed a sort of half turn, her eyes scanning everyone scattered about over the slopes until she zeroed in on the maniac--all she could make out was all-black clothing and a beard with a grey beanie. The second she focused on him, she narrowed her eyes and started marching over there to tell him off. Then she tripped, because she had forgotten she was on skis.

“Not worth it, Mom,” Henry groaned behind her. He was used to Emma telling off total assholes, and while this was supposed to be their fun just-the-two-of-them-Christmas-vacation, she wasn’t about to let some Ski Patrol reject with a death wish to go around terrorizing innocent first-timers on the damned bunny slope. As she swished over to where the guy had stopped, she put up her metaphorical dukes, suddenly blazing and ready for a fight.

“Fucking hell,” she heard about three seconds before tackling the guy. In the back of her mind, it registered that he was British, but she didn’t care to know details about him. All she needed to know was that he was a fucking maniac, and she was going to let him know just how she treated fucking maniacs.

That’s when he ripped his goggles and beanie off and turned to face her.

“I am so sorry, love. Was that your boy? I’m afraid I’m rather new at this, I shouldn’t have…” His voice petered off as he took in the angry woman stalking up--or doing her best approximation of stalking up, anyway--a look of utter panic widening his eyes into a comical cartoon-like expression.

“Do _not_ call me love, you fucking maniac! What the hell is your problem! What if he’d only been three? What if you’d crashed into him? What if you’d taken his head off, what would your apology be worth then, huh?” Emma knew she was being irrational as she advanced, and she probably would have gotten herself into a one-sided shoving match if the guy hadn’t raised his arms in front of him in some sort of self-protection gesture. But when he did that, she noticed something, and it’s what managed to cut through her blazing red anger: instead of a hand, he had a hook-like contraption clutching onto his ski pole. Not that being one-handed excused him from any wrong-doing, but it was enough to make her slow down a little bit. She felt some of her anger leak out and rather than continuing to advance on the guy, she stopped in place, closing her eyes and counting to three.

Then she tripped in place. Her eyes popped open and she started pinwheeling her arms to keep her balance.

“Here,” she heard. British Maniac rushed forward, probably to help, but he seemed to temporarily forget that he, too, was on skis, because the next thing Emma knew, she was lying in the snow, the maniac was kind of on top of her, and there was a terrible snapping sound. 

“My ski,” he groaned, and it was just so absurd that Emma started laughing.

“You laughing at me, love?”

“I told you,” she wheezed. “Not your love.” As she met his eye, her entire body kind of sighed, because up until that very moment, she hadn’t taken the time to notice something: her maniac Brit was kind of hot.

He sort of blinked at her a couple of times before reaching up and brushing at her face. She wanted to protest, but she realized he was just getting rid of some snow, so she let it slide.

Emma didn’t know how long they stared at each other, but she figured it must have been a little longer than necessary because when she heard a loud _ahem_ somewhere behind her, she suddenly became very aware that she was lying in the snow with a stranger on top of her, their legs entangled, their skis sprawled out--one of his broken, and she was just staring at the guy.

“Mom? You okay?” came Henry’s very amused voice. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see her kid grinning down at her.

“Sorry. Sorry,” the maniac breathed. He seemed to come to the same realizations about where he was and what he was doing; he scrambled off of her and tried to stand. Between the two of them and with Henry’s smirking assistance, she and the stranger managed to get up with only a little bit of awkwardness between them.

“Sorry for nearly running you down, lad,” the stranger said after some more awkward shuffling. “I’m afraid I’m not nearly as smooth on land as I am on the sea, and even less so when there’s snow.”

Henry brightened at that. “Are you a sailor?”

“Used to be.”

“Cool! Mom loves the ocean, she wants a house on the bay one day when we can afford it.” Henry continued to make small talk with the guy, and the entire time, Emma just looked between the two of them, shaking her head fondly at her kid’s ability to make a friend everywhere he went.

When the stranger, who introduced himself as Killian Jones, marauder, begged to give reparations by way of hot cocoa at the ski lodge, Emma barely had time to agree before Henry was dragging the two of them back toward the touristy and fake-rustic place where they were staying.

The three of them had a perfectly lovely time laughing about how terrible they all were at skiing while enjoying the promised hot cocoa (two of them with generous splashes from a magical flask Killian produced from somewhere inside his down jacket). Eventually, Killian looked at his watch with some regret, declaring that he was only there for the one day and that he needed to be driving back to town for an early flight back home. Emma didn’t miss the way Henry’s entire face fell, and she had to admit--she, too, kind of wished the interlude wouldn’t end. It wasn’t often that she met a man who took to her son so easily--the ones who didn’t mind that she had a kid tried hard to be cool about it, but Killian Jones seemed to genuinely like and appreciate how great Henry was. 

When Killian stood, brushing at his jeans and mumbling something about finding out whether he could donate his busted skis to someone who knew how to repair them, Henry suddenly looked over with the mischievous twinkle he sometimes got when he was trying to wheedle Emma into buying him dessert or another video game.

“I, uh. Bathroom,” he grinned, looking at her significantly before springing up off his chair and bounding away. “It was nice to meet you, Killian!” he called out over his shoulder as he went.

“Subtle,” Emma laughed as she looked up at Killian. He was smiling, traces of laughter in his eyes as he looked at her warmly.

“So. It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the cocoa. And the booze.”

“Thanks for not punching me.”

“Depending on what you say next, that could still happen.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured with approval. His eyes roved over her face, and while that usually made her bristle, this time it did not. 

Suddenly, Emma really wished she’d thought to ask where Killian lived. He’d mentioned that he was flying home--was home England? The west coast? Somewhere far away? She didn’t often connect with people, male or female--was this destined to be a one-time meeting?

She hated the thought that she wouldn’t see him again.

So, Emma decided to put herself out there, a thing she didn’t often do. She looked at Killian until she was sure she had his attention (and who was she kidding, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her for a second since they’d crashed into each other, she knew it and he knew it so there was no use pretending), and then she held out her hand.

He looked at her quizzically, even tilting his head to the side in an adorable imitation of a puppy wondering how to best get the treat it’s just been offered.

“Give me your phone.”

Comprehension turned his eyes from a soft, approachable blue to a blazing-hot intensity that made her feel way warmer than the fireplace at their backs had managed to achieve. Without comment, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone, handing it to her silently, his eyes still on her, his entire body still as she took the phone from his hand.

She entered her number, made her name “Emma, Not Love,” and then hit dial so that she had his number, too.

When Henry came back twenty minutes later, he had three Twix bars in his hand, “in case Killian decided to stay.”

“He had to go home, kid.”

“Yeah.” Henry ripped into his candy dejectedly, biting one of the bars in half and munching on it with a frown.

“You liked him.”

“Didn’t you?” he pointed out.

“Yeah, kid. I think I did.” Emma smiled sadly, knowing she sounded wistful and not caring one bit. “Come on, let’s stick to watching movies about skiing and never try it again.”

The following day, she woke to a _Bump into any interesting characters on the bunny slope today?_ text from Killian, an absolutely delightful thing to read first thing in the morning.

That started a good text exchange between the two of them, but Emma was a busy person. And as time passed, she started to convince herself that it was probably for the best that he lived all the way in England. She’d fuck it up, somehow, she just knew it. Killian was too nice, too good for her. Besides, she was saving her kid the pain of getting attached to some guy and then getting mad at her when she inevitably fucked it up. Their texts petered off, until one day she forgot about him. Well, that’s what she told herself when she stopped replying to him, anyway.

And then…

**Flash Back to Spring Time**

“Are you sure about this?” Emma grunted, her phone balanced between her shoulder and ear as she lugged a suitcase over to her Bug.

“Mom,” Henry groaned for the thirtieth time. “I told you, Dad said it was cool. He’s bummed he got called into work during my spring break, so he told us to go ahead and enjoy the beach house. Now hurry up and get over here, and don’t forget to go buy food. I ate it all.” Emma chuckled as he hung up, letting go of the suitcase and putting her phone in her back pocket. When she reached for her too-heavy baggage and started to pull, she stumbled as one of the wheels got caught in a crack on the sidewalk.

“Shit!” she whimpered, her fingers having fumbled the handle and getting caught. She immediately sucked her middle finger into her mouth and glared at the offending suitcase, asking herself for the hundredth time if she’d packed too much for a week at the beach.

“Need help, Not Love?”

It couldn’t be.

Emma turned and sure enough, there was Killian Jones, looking dapper as hell in a three-piece suit with his hair and his eyes and his...hook. Like, he had an actual hook-hook this time, not the pinching hook he’d had on the ski slopes.

“Is that a fucking hook?” was the first thing she said aloud to him since Christmas. That slow grin unfurled on his face as he looked at her with that same intensity from the ski lodge, but there was a dark note in it, one that hadn’t been there before. She thought she knew what that was about--she hadn’t answered any of his texts since mid-February.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk outside her apartment in Storybrooke with the man she’d thought about more than a thousand times in front of her, and she suddenly couldn’t remember why she’d ignored him. He looked so good.

“Aye. I like to wear it around prospective clients, lets them know I’m not afraid of much,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still somewhat dark and broody. “Why are we cursing at unoffending luggage?”

“She’s being difficult,” Emma said, nearly protesting when he immediately reached for the handle and started to pull. She’d noticed that about him from the beginning--Killian was a _gentleman_ , doing stuff just to be helpful without being gross about it, not doing it because he didn’t think she could but because he wanted to. It was nice. On anyone else it would have been irritating, but on him, it wasn’t.

“So, what’re you doing in my hometown?” Emma asked once he’d gotten her suitcase into the car, and then she immediately winced. Never once had she told him where she lived, and he hadn’t told her where he lived, either. It was a line she’d never wanted to cross, probably because she knew it would get too real too fast. Oh, well.

He turned and seemed to brighten at that. “You live here? It’s a delightful town. I’m in Bangor, just transferred from the Philadelphia branch because…” But he didn’t finish. Instead he simply stood there, looking at her, his face carefully blank. She could tell he was dying to ask her more questions, but he was holding himself back, and that hurt. Then she acknowledged that it was fair, considering she’d stopped contacting him.

Suddenly, Emma was pissed at herself. Why did she do this? Why was she forever pushing things away before she had the chance to break them? She wished she could do it over again. She wished she could go back and answer his text, keep up the exchange now that she knew he’d actually be like, within driving distance.

Suddenly, it seemed so easy. All of her reasons for holding back just kind of melted away in the face (and what a handsome face) of, well. His face. His easy grin. 

“What’s that smile for?” he asked, making her aware that she was smiling thinking about it. The possibilities that lay open before her. He smiled as he spoke, and it was the same smile of appreciation he’d flashed at her more than once back at the cabin when he didn’t think Henry was paying attention. Emma felt warmed by it, her body automatically responding. She could feel herself leaning toward him, both her upper half and her lower, her back arching slightly, her pelvis tilting in his direction. And he, too, reciprocated, shifting his stance until his body was angled toward hers. She could almost imagine touching him, feeling his warmth beneath her fingers, hearing his soft voice in her ear.

“We should grab lunch sometime,” she found herself saying. Not her usual m.o.; Emma couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done something as simple as have a meal with a prospect--it was more like, “Can I buy you another drink?” before she followed the guy back to his place for a quick one-nighter. Not that she’d be opposed to going back to Killian’s place or anything, but something told her to wait for that. That he would be worth waiting for.

She actually felt emboldened by that. The acknowledgement that he could be something more. What was going on? Normally, that kind of thought sent her running for the hills. Now she just felt a kind of thrill going through her while she waited for him to accept.

When his face fell somewhat, she realized before he told her no that he was going to refuse. The abrupt change from bold, happy buzzing to a sinking down to the pit of her stomach nearly made her choke.

“I’d love to, but…”

“It’s cool. I gotta go, anyway.” Emma took a step toward her car, turning her face from his about-to-disappoint expression so she wouldn’t have to see it. _So much for hoping and putting myself out there._

“Emma.” He stepped toward her and put his hand on her arm--not grabbing, barely even touching, but with enough pressure that she wanted to melt at the contact. “Emma, look at me.” 

She really didn’t want to. She’d been on the other end of it often enough, letting someone down--sometimes gently, sometimes with a shove to the shoulder. She didn’t want to know what it felt like to be rejected like that.

“Killian, it’s okay.”

“Emma,” he tried again, stifled laughter in his voice. She looked up at that, because how dare he make fun of her--but there was amusement in his eyes, plain and simple. And, if she was reading him right, which she knew he was--fondness.

“Trust me, love. I’d like nothing more than to take you out to a fine lunch at, oh, I don’t know--that Granny’s place I passed on the way in looked as fine an establishment as any--but I’m afraid I’m already running late, and I still need to find my footing at the new office. Can’t go around being two hours late upon returning from recruiting a new client. Perhaps tomorrow? We could meet at Granny’s at noon?” He looked so warm and inviting, and hopeful. Emma felt a renewed thrill soar up her throat, but she had to swallow it back. Henry. Beach. _Dammit_.

“I--I’m on my way out of town, Killian.”

Emma had read about the light fading from someone’s eyes many times over, but she’d never actually witnessed it until just then. She could actually see the hope sinking into his watery blue gaze.

“Right. Suitcase.”

“Yeah.” She shuffled a little, jingling her keys in her pocket, knowing she needed to be on her way but not wanting to leave. 

_Invite him to the beach._

_That’s crazy!_

Somehow, it didn’t _seem_ so crazy. But she had a kid and couldn’t afford to be impetuous with men like that. Henry was way too important to her to bring some man on their vacation on a whim.

“Well, I really must be getting on my way.” He took a step away and she immediately missed him, the faint smell of aftershave or cologne or soap or Killian fading as he drifted from her. She didn’t want him to drift away!

“I’ll...text you,” she offered, hating the way his lips pulled to a thin line as he nodded. He stuck his hand in his pocket and saluted her with his hook before turning on his heel, and Emma watched him walk down the sidewalk and out of her life once again.

**Summer Time**

“I have an announcement,” Emma said once Henry slouched out of his room and plopped onto the couch. He was still in his pajamas and his eyes were barely open, but he already had the XBox controller in one hand and the TV remote in the other. So it went when it was summer vacation.

“Mom,” he groaned. “Coffee first, announcements second.” Emma had already walked up behind him, producing a mug of coffee over his shoulder. He took it and leaned his head back, smiling a sleepy still-my-little-boy smile at her while she leaned over to press her lips to his forehead.

After Henry had drained his mug, he set it down and then thumbed his way through the gaming menu. “So, what’s the announcement?”

“We’re going sailing next weekend.” Emma did her best to sound nonchalant, but inside she was practically frothing at the mouth. Henry had always wanted to go out on a boat--Neal had promised dozens of times to take him, but of course, it had never happened. Emma had asked him if he minded if she took him and he’d told her no, so she went ahead and made plans. Excited plans. Big plans. 

Plans that involved a man.

“Seriously?” The news must have made Henry excited, too, because it practically took an act of Congress to get the kid to put his controller down in the summer time. But there he was, setting it down on the couch as he turned to face her, his eyes shining like when she used to take him to go ice skating at Rockefeller center when he was little and they still lived in New York.

“Seriously. Chartered a boat and everything.”

“Cool! Do I get to learn how to do things, or is this like, a tour?”

“A little of both, I think.” Emma smiled at her kid, glad to know that he wasn’t too much of a teenager to act all giddy at the thought of fulfilling one of his childhood dreams. “I’m not sure, actually. All I know is that we were invited to go out on a boat, and that’s another thing I--”

“Who do we know who has a boat?” Henry had turned back to his game and Emma was glad, because she felt warmth blooming on her cheeks knowing what she had to say next, and she didn’t want Henry to see. He was too smart, he’d know something was up.

“Killian Jones.”

It was a nice try, anyway. Henry zipped around quickly, his expression completely amazed, his eyes narrowing instantly when he met her gaze.

“Killian. Ski maniac guy who spiked your hot cocoa Killian?”

“Yeah.” Ugh, she could feel how dopey her grin was and didn’t even care.

“How long have you been dating?” Henry’s voice was suspicious and, if she weren’t mistaken, highly offended, probably because she hadn’t said anything about Killian once in almost six months.

“We’re...not dating. I think.” Emma felt herself blushing again and she had to resist the urge to press her fingers to her cheeks to hide it. “We’ve been texting a lot. He lives here in Maine and has a boat. When I told him you used to want to learn how to sail, he immediately offered to take us out for the day. So, I told him yes. Is that...is that okay? Because if it isn’t okay, I can back out, I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to--”

“Mom,” Henry interrupted, sounding sly as one corner of his mouth curled up. “You like him!”

“Shut up, he’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, a friend whose face you want touching your face.”

“Henry.”

“You want to kiss him. Wait. Have you already kissed him?”

“I have not.” She didn’t bother denying the other parts of his accusation. Like Emma, her son was excellent at spotting lies.

“You will.” Henry seemed overly confident about it, and she dearly hoped it was true.

She was dying to kiss Killian. Or see him, for that matter. She hadn’t lain eyes on him since they had run into each other that one day when she was yelling at her suitcase. 

She had texted him, though. The minute she got to the beach house, actually. She knew he’d been surprised to receive her text because he said as much approximately 0.8 seconds after she’d hit “send.”

_You texted me! Can’t say I was expecting that, love._

**still not your love.** She had to resist the urge to send a stupid smiley face to soften the blow, but somehow, she knew he’d get it. If Emma was feeling prickly about him, she simply wouldn’t have texted him in the first place. She figured if anyone got that about her, it was Killian.

_And yet, I am shocked. Pleased and delighted, but shocked nonetheless. How’s...wherever it is you hied off to?_

**the beach. it’s good, i love the ocean. got my sunscreen, book, and bikini**

_Now that’s simply rude, Swan. I’m at work. I told you, I need to impress the partners. Me drooling onto a stack of legal briefs while picturing that is hardly impressive._

**i don’t know, that might make me give you a raise**

The flirting continued as the months went by.

_Lunch this weekend?_

**can’t. i pulled the night shift.**

_Were I a denizen of Storybrooke, I’d commit all sorts of crimes if I knew you’d be the one wielding the handcuffs._

**which would be handy since you’re a lawyer and could easily get yourself off**

_There are so many jokes to be made from that one text that I hardly know where to begin_

**i think you know exactly where to begin**

_I do. I’d begin by turning it around until you admitted to getting YOURSELF off_

And on and on and on. It was almost like they were seeing each other, even though they never actually got to see each other except for the occasional selfie that he’d always manage to wheedle out of her. Storybrooke was an odd spring break destination, but it was a cute little tourist town with coastline and a nice little beach, so the influx of out-of-towners every spring made sure she was earning overtime on a consistent basis. And Killian was so busy keeping up an insane workload that they’d only had time for texting.

It’s funny how intimate that can get. Emma herself would have scoffed if someone had told her that meaningful relationships could be forged over a digital keyboard, but there she was, a living example of it. She knew all sorts of stuff about Killian--about how his brother was the only family he had left, how he’d left him behind in England after a particularly tragic ending to a relationship that took both his fiancee’s life and his hand. How he preferred Clint Eastwood’s westerns to the Dirty Harrys ( **i should bail now, dirty harry is the best** , _Ah, but together, we enjoy the entire oeuvre_ ). She learned that the American devotion to Halloween and Thanksgiving perplexed him and teased him for being so stuffy about it _(I simply do not understand congealed, sugared cranberry jelly._ **you’re not supposed to understand it, you’re supposed to slather it on your turkey and eat it like a good boy**.)

And yet they couldn’t seem to find the time to actually meet up for coffee or a drink or hell, a hot makeout session in the backseat of her car.

Well, that was mostly true. Emma could have easily taken a day off to drive down to Bangor, but something was holding her back. She thought she knew what it was, but she decided it best to not bring it up, even to herself, so the texting continued.

Until the day she let it slip that she and Henry had never been sailing.

_I’ve my own boat, you know._

**oh? do you have a cute little captain’s hat, too?**

_No, but I do put on a rather rakish leather duster coat sometimes._

**doesn’t the sea spray ruin the leather**

_The ocean is ever my lover and would not dare, I cut too fine a figure while wearing it_

**i wouldn’t want to come between you and your other love, then**

It had taken him a while to respond to that. She hadn’t meant anything by it, she really hadn’t. He still called her “love” all the time. It wasn’t...oh, God. She hadn’t meant to imply that she was his love!

Just when Emma had herself all good and worked up and was ready to either drive down to Bangor to explain to his face that she hadn’t meant to suggest that she was anything other than his good friend, the three little dots indicating he was typing popped up on her screen. With her bottom lip drawn between her teeth, Emma waited impatiently, watching the dot-dot-dot working furiously before _stopping_.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, her thumbs hovering indecisively over her keyboard as she wondered whether to type a “just kidding” or “hey, about the word ‘love,’ i was just being flippant, like you always are with me? Please don’t leave me” or something equally mortifying. Just before she actually started tapping, even though she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was going to say, he responded.

_Perhaps Henry would enjoy a day trip? I could show him the ropes, literally. I’ve already obtained permission with the harbormaster in Storybrooke, I could easily pick him up one fine morning and take him out. I’ll even provide sunscreen and lunch._

_You could come, if you like._

And it had been that easy.

“So, next weekend?”

Henry was doing his best to sound nonchalant, but she could hear the eagerness in his voice. Whether it was because of the actual sailing or because she never took him out with the guys she met, she couldn’t tell.

“Next weekend.”

But it wasn’t to be. Emma--stupid, idiotic Emma--in her excitement over finally getting to see Killian, spent way too long in the sun on her day off. She ended up with a nasty sunburn, one that was so bad that David made her go down to the emergency room to make sure she didn’t have third-degree burns when she’d come to the station wincing every time she moved. Her skin had actually _purpled_ , it was so bad.

She’d actually called Killian the following day as she soaked in oatmeal in her bathtub, groaning with the simple act of lifting her arm to put her phone to her ear.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said once he picked up, and she closed her eyes in defeat. She could actually _hear_ him smiling.

“That’s a thing a girl loves to hear,” she told him, certain she, herself, sounded smiley despite the all-encompassing pain she was in.

“So I thought you could meet me down at the docks around seven. I know that’s early, but--”

“Yeah, about that,” Emma cut in, not wanting him to get himself all worked up over a thing that wouldn’t happen. “We have to reschedule.”

Killian did his valiant best not to sound too disappointed, even offering to come down for the day to fix her dinner, but she quickly demurred. No way she wanted him to see her like that, skin blistering and needing to rub this special aloe cream all over her shoulders every hour. So, she told him it would have to wait, and he agreed that it could wait, that she was worth waiting for.

She had to live on those last words of his the rest of the summer. Killian had to go to court, and the rest of his time was consumed with winning his case.

She was starting to wonder if it was meant to be. And for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t necessarily want to wait and see. She knew that eventually, she’d have to do something about it.

**Halloween Party**

“Of course you fucking won.” That was how Emma greeted Killian when he picked up the phone that October. His Say congratulations to a man who just won his first case in the great state of Maine required more than iMessage’s confetti and a lame **congratulations!** response. Besides, they’d been casually chatting whenever they caught a mutual minute ever since the great sunburn debacle from months before.

“Your confidence in my abilities almost exceeds my own, love.”

“Still not your love.” She was _totally_ his love. His grinning voice all but said that as he responded.

“And yet, you’re the first person I wished to tell the instant I set foot outside the courtroom.” That one made Emma feel all warm inside. He was so good at doing that to her. And she hadn’t even seen him since what, March? She didn’t know what she’d do if she ever actually got her shit together and saw him in person. Jump on him, probably.

“So, how are we celebrating? Shall I meet you for drinks?”

“And risk your life? I hardly think that’s necessary,” he scoffed, but she could hear the affection in his voice. It made her grin, hearing how he spoke to her. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to make good on that. Seriously, she was done waiting. 

“I can be there in what, an hour? It’s only 5:30. Let’s meet halfway.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah,” she said, simple and true. And she was ready to do it, she really was. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, jumping in her car and driving to go see a guy she was maybe seeing. “Just lemme put some pants on, and I’m there.”

“Don’t bother with that,” he said, his voice a low rumble in her ear. Emma shot up off the couch, wondering if Henry would even notice she’d gone. Then she remembered that he was out with friends, doing whatever it was teenaged boys did on Halloween, and she further remembered that she needed to stay in town tonight, just in case. 

“Crap. I forgot. The kids get pretty crazy tonight, I need to stay nearby in case David needs me.”

“I could come out there,” he offered quietly, and the way he said it made Emma grin big and wide.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well,” she said, thinking quickly. “Henry’s staying at his friend’s house, and David and Mary Margaret are having this little party tonight…”

“Are you saying you wish for me to meet your friends?”

“I guess I am.”

There was a minute of total silence as Emma waited, silently dying for his response. And then, “Just let me change out of my suit, love.”

“Still not your love.”

“It’s Halloween, Swan. Try the costume on for size, maybe it fits.”

 _Damn_ , she thought. _That was good._

“Get over here.”

“On my way.”

But, of course, he never showed. His car broke down somewhere north of Augusta.

And then it was like their momentum kind of slowed down. It took almost two weeks for his car to be fixed, and Emma got caught up with end-of-year stuff, like organizing the Thanksgiving charity drive (“It’s your turn, Em,” David reminded her, and it’s not like she could back out of it because she was hot for a guy she was only sort-of seeing) and keeping the town drunks from driving on the slippery roads of Storybrooke. Then turkey leftovers passed into the actual Christmas holiday, and somewhere between shopping to get Henry a gift or seven and making her non-plans to spend Christmas all by herself, she and Killian just hadn’t gotten their shit together enough to make it happen. Henry had asked whatever happened with the ski maniac English guy, and she’d shrugged, not wanting to get into why she was so bad at relationships with her own kid. He’d looked at her like he was the dad and she was the wishy-washy kid, but since he was a good man, he didn’t chastise her too much.

She did wish Killian a merry Christmas, though. Through a text. She’d briefly considered calling him, but he’d said something about how his brother Liam had been begging him to go back to London for the holidays, and that he was thinking about doing it. Maybe she’d been crazy, but she’d thought for a second that he sounded reluctant, like...he wanted her to talk him out of it, maybe. But she didn’t want to be the girl that got between a guy and his family, so she hadn’t pursued it. He’d been a little flat after the moment for her to ask him to stay passed, and when she’d thought about it later (obsessed about it over and over), she wondered if that was the moment. When Killian just kind of decided to give up on her. It didn’t surprise her, really. She knew she was too much effort with not enough payoff. It’s just...he’d kind of seemed like he would be persistent. About her.

When she’d awakened a couple of days before Christmas, it occurred to her that it had been a year since they’d met. One year. And in all of that time, they’d only seen each other twice. Two times. It wasn’t even a real relationship. She could easily forget him.

Except when Henry had called on her way home from work, he’d asked about Killian.

“It’s been a year, isn’t that, like, your anniversary?”

“Henry, about Killian--”

“Tell him I said, ‘Merry Christmas!’” 

“Will do.”

Emma didn’t have the heart to tell her kid that it was maybe never going to happen. She knew that it would be hard to forget Killian when her kid.seemed to like him so much.

Anyway, that had been when she decided she was going to spend the holiday alone. Turned down all the invites for after-work egg nog and David and Mary Margaret’s and Granny’s annual Cookies and Cocoa with Santa, all of it. She was going to just have some quality time with herself and a Friends marathon. She could decide what to do about Killian later.

Of course, that was easy to say when he wasn’t standing right in front of her.

“You forgot cranberries, too?”

His only answer was that smirk of his, which seemed much deadlier now that he was actually _standing right in front of her._

“And you had to drive all the way out to Storybrooke to find them?”

“Something like that. I love this stuff, disgusting as it is. Someone convinced me that it was worth it, so here I am.”

“Yeah, turkey isn’t really turkey without it,” she said. She couldn’t seem to stop _smiling_.

“Ah, so you’re having your own holiday celebration?”

“Oh, sure,” she said airily, even though inside she felt like she was going to burst. “Me and my grilled cheese. There might even be pie.” That made him frown. He opened his mouth to say something, but then someone made a loud, rude _harrumph_ noise and Killian turned to face the interrupting stranger.

“Tell your girlfriend to move forward. Or let me cut.”

Startled, both Emma and Killian looked and noticed that the line, indeed, had advanced. Feeling the burn in her cheeks, she stepped forward, looking over her shoulder to see a grinning Killian step close until he was pressing into her back.

“Hey,” she said, knowing she sounded out of breath and not giving a shit.

“Hi,” he said, still grinning.

“So why are you here, anyway?”

He dropped the grin and looked serious for a second, which should have made her nervous, but it didn’t, especially not when he reached up to move a strand of hair off her face.

“Honestly, Swan? I wanted to see you, and I wasn’t about to let anything, including you, get in the way of it. I figured I’d call and see if you wanted to meet me for a drink, but happily, I didn’t have to do that.”

“And you just happened to be at my grocery store, buying the same gross condiment as I am at the exact same time?”

“What can I say, love? Oh, wait, I know, I know. Not my love.” He smiled when she shook her head, even though it was on the tip of her tongue to say, _Yes! I am! I am your love!_ “Christmas is magic. I really did drop in for this stuff, in case you didn’t have any. Perhaps it was meant to be.”

“Perhaps.” Emma leaned back, allowing him to support her for a second before turning to face him fully. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Now?” He looked puzzled for a second, but when she grabbed the can out from under his arm and put it next to hers on the conveyor belt along with her M&Ms, he gave her his full, beaming grin again. “I hope you’re still planning on buying that. I’m not joking, I _love_ cranberry sauce.”

“Yeah, we’re buying it. Then we’re going back to my place. Not for, you know,” she said, feeling warmth creep up her chest. “I mean, unless you want to--”

“Relax, love,” he laughed. “That isn’t why I’m here. Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no to it, but...I told you. You’re worth waiting for.”

And when the rude stranger standing behind them had to harrumph again to get them to pay for their stuff because they were too busy staring into each other’s laughing eyes, Emma knew that the entire dance of a year had been worth it. She instantly changed her stance on spending Christmas alone--not because she was lonely, but because it seemed like she was getting the best gift of all--an unexpected, but very happy, ending.


End file.
